The Nosferatu Venatores
by Skarvald
Summary: Follow the life of Ivan Lucanus, conquering his curse of Vampirism and enacting revenge on the very man who gave him it, his own uncle: Garren Drakul.
1. Prologue

**Loredas, 7th day of Sun's Dusk, 4E 188 — Kvatch, Cyrodiil**

It was a kind autumn night in the city of Kvatch. Bright yellow and orange leaves layered the ground from the dozens of trees that were located throughout the city. It had been almost two centuries ago that Kvatch was invaded and destroyed by Daedra during the Oblivion Crisis, and now after being rebuilt the city was plenty filled with people in its markets similar to the Imperial City.

The gates stood shut with guards at each side. Layered onto a white linen tabard covering their chain mail armor was the crest of Kvatch; a large black fox head with piercing white eyes. Kvatch's armor was of fine steel grade, so should danger oppose their home, the Kvatch city guard would be prepared. These two guards in particular were on their night shift, and were more alert than ever. Nightfall usually heralded dark tidings.

It was nearing dusk when the guards noticed a figure approaching the city gates. When he finally arrived before them they were able to identify him more accurately, thanks to the lighting of their torches.

His face was middle-aged, yet there was something about him that felt off...almost like he was older than he looked. His eyes were of a deep chocolate brown; though they too gave mysterious uncertainty. His medium-length hair that covered his head was the color of charcoal, and his facial hair consisted of a bushy mustache. His choice in clothing was rather elegant; a regal burgundy coat that covered a scarlet red shirt and black vest. The boots he wore were rather not as refined, but nonetheless fit with his style; plain black-leathered boots that were three inches below knee length.

One of the guards stepped in-front of the man, blocking his way and questioned him. "Evening, traveler. Before letting you in, I must ask your reason for entering Kvatch. Especially at this hour and now under Thalmor control, we don't usually let strangers inside without permission."

The man cleared his throat and introduced himself rather politely in a deep accented voice. "Ah, yes. What a fine evening it is, good sirs. I am Garren Lucanus, seeing entry on behalf of the Lucanus Family for a homecoming reception. As of now, I am rather late so if you would be so kind as to let me pass." As the man spoke, his were locked with the guard's and strangely, without hesitation, the guard stepped aside.

"Welcome to Kvatch then, Mr. Lucanus. Have a splendid stay," the guard said as he opened the door, letting the man named Garren through.

Garren took sight of Kvatch's main plaza. Houses to the left and right of him, with the chapel of the Divine Akatosh in-front. They were all of the traditional Gothic style, which surprisingly fit in well with the city's architecture. He of course wasn't here for religious practice, but for family. He headed in the direction of the Lucanus family estate and was greeted a tall wooden door with an iron knocker ornately shaped to a fox head, like Kvatch's crest. He then used the knocker and awaited reply.

A few moments passed and the door opened. Standing there before him was the wife of the Lucanus family, Rosaline. "Ah, good evening Garren," she said kindly as she embraced her brother-in-law. "So glad you could make it."

"Indeed," Garren commented as he took her hand politely and kissed it. "I am delighted to be here, in this exquisite town. Is Markus here?" He stood still, awaiting to be invited inside. One must be invited first inside a home before setting foot in, it was only common courtesy.

Rosaline nodded excitingly, eager to start things. "Yes, yes. Let me get him over here. In the meantime, do come inside and wait by in the den to my right. You can talk to your nephew Ivan." She smiled before turning away and disappearing from his sight in search of her husband.

Garren entered then, now knowing he had been invited inside. He made his way into the den that included a wood-burning fireplace. Sitting in one of the two elaborately made armchairs was his nephew, Ivan. He seated himself next to the young boy and examined his looks.

Young and spoiled, Ivan was dressed quite handsomely for his age. Short black hair came down to his earlobes. His eyebrows were not thick yet not thin, and the color of his eyes were of a darker brown than Garren. His attire consisted of a formal black collared shirt and pants with black shoes. For his age, Ivan looked like quite the gentleman. Garren decided to introduce himself.

"Hello there," Garren spoke softly to his nephew. "You are Ivan, correct? I am your uncle, Garren Lucanus." He then extended his hand in offering a hand-shake.

Ivan looked up, startled by the sudden noise. Clearing his throat he too extended his hand and clasped it firmly. Garren's hand was surprisingly cold despite being next to a fire but this was dismissed from his mind before it took any real value for an idea. He then replied, "Indeed I am, sir. Ivan's my name."

Garren laughed deeply, his Cyrodilic accent noticeable. He looked at Ivan with kind eyes. "Dear child, there is no need for solemnity this night. I am your Uncle after-all. Please, call me Uncle Garren."

Smiling with confidence, Ivan nodded with reply. "As you wish, Uncle Garren." Just then they both could hear Rosaline call for dinner and so they both arose from their seats.

Entering the room was a man who shown with experience in his years. Bright steel-blue eyes kept his middle-aged face looking young and proud. His hair was of a dark brown, alike to Garren's, that hanged to his shoulders tied in a rogue's knot. The man wore also a handle-bar mustache that covered his upper lip. His attire was of a dark tan or light brown collared shirt with cuffed sleeves. On these sleeves were ornate silver cufflinks in the shape of the symbol that matched Akay, Divine of the Cycle of Birth and Death. The man, who was identified as Markus Lucanus extended a strong hand in greeting and spoke in a deep baritone of a voice.

"Welcome dear brother," Markus said with great care as he and Garren embraced for a hug. "I do hope your journey here was safe."

Garren smiled with gratitude and chuckled wholeheartedly. "I had no trouble getting here, Markus. I'm glad to be inside such an exquisite home."

Markus smiled with compassion as he looked at Ivan. "I see you and Ivan have gotten to know each-other. There will be more time for that later. Come, dinner is served." He then lead Garren and Ivan to a clothed cherry wood dining table, covered in ornate plates and silverware. Seeing the silverware, Garren's brow furrowed in slight disgust. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a couple of leather gloves in which he put on.

"I do not wish to dirty this fine silver, dear brother," he said quickly as he covered his hands.

Markus nodded in understanding, albeit suspicious but nonetheless agreed, "Of course, thank you."

The family then seated themselves and Markus spoke. "Let us say grace. Rosaline, would you begin while I close us in prayer?"

Rosaline nodded as everyone held hands around the table. She then began in a soft, honey-smooth voice, "Nine Divines, we thank you tonight for this splendid meal you have provided for us. Thank you Zenithar, for the work you have provided for me and my husband and thank you for the wealth you have blessed us with. Dear Julianos, we thank you for your wisdom that lead us to good choices in our lives, and we finally thank you Lady Mara for your love and compassion." She squeezed Markus' hand, letting him know it was his turn.

In contemplation, Markus bowed his head reverently and quietly whispered, "And now we thank you, Great Talos, or as we call you, Tiber Septim for our safety in the midst of the Great War that happened only seventeen years ago. Thank you for the hedge of protection you gave us when the Thalmor sacked the Imperial City. I pray that you will still hear those that protest against their damned White-Gold Concordat and that you will bless those who still bow to your glorious name. We pray these things in all the Divine's names. Amen."

He opened his eyes slowly to see a warm meal before them. Stuffed pig with roasted garlic potatoes, asparagus, carrots, and many other vegetables. Their drinks consisted of Surille Brother's wine, vintage 399; a legendary quality reserved for this special occasion. "Let us eat," he said then.

As everyone began to eat their meal, Markus couldn't help but notice that as Garren was chewing on the garlic potatoes he was looking as if he would gag them up any moment. And sure enough Garren started coughing rather hoarsely. But what caught his eye was his brother's teeth; long pointed fangs had replaced his canines!

_"__Surely I must be seeing things," _Markus reasoned to himself and continued eating as if he saw nothing.

"How does everything taste, my brother?" Markus asked kindly.

"Remarkable," Garren replied as he stuffed a piece of asparagus and pig. "Though I must admit I have an allergic problem with the amount of garlic. Nonetheless, I am quite enjoying this meal." He smiled then, showing his teeth; normal canines shown now. Markus assumed that what he saw was now surely a trick of the eye.

Rosaline was devouring her roasted pig, for it was her favorite food. In her hasty greed, her hand slipped while cutting and was cut. Blood seeped from the small wound as she whimpered in mild pain. "Oh shoot," she remarked. "I'm sorry I'll have to clean this up." As she said this Garren's eyes were locked on the sight of Rosaline's wound. His now red glowing eyes stared with a cold hunger, and when Markus saw this, he grew suspicious. This was no mere illusion.

"Garren," he called. His brother blinked, almost like he was out from a trance. The red in his eyes quickly faded back to dark brown. "I'm going to refresh myself in my room. If you will excuse me."

"By all means," Garren replied. "Take your time, dear brother."

Markus then paced rather swiftly to his quarters, and went straight to his closet. He opened it wide and took out a brown suitcase. Opening it revealed the garb for a Vampire Hunter. Silver-blessed stakes, hidden knives for throwing, holy tomes, and many other assorted objects and nick-nacks. Markus grabbed one of the stakes and placed it between his belt and took the throwing knives that were sheathed and wrapped it around his body. He then covered himself with a coat and made his way back to the dining room...but he was too late.

Garren stood behind Rosaline as she was washing her wound. The look on Garren's face told Markus that danger was in his home, a Vampire. "Rosaline, behind you!" Markus shouted as he withdrew his silver stake.

Rosaline turned as Garren sank his teeth into her neck, drinking deeply her blood dry. His lips were covered in dripping red blood. He smacked them, savoring the sweet taste. His eyes glowed dark with red iris centering them, and his teeth now fully shown his long fangs. Looking at Garren he hissed loudly with a hint of laughter. "How noble of you to invite a Vampire into your home, Markus, especially one is renowned as one of the Dark Brotherhood's greatest assassins of the fourth era. I am he, Garren Drakul Lucanus, but I would prefer 'Drakul' in place of our surname. To be honest, I've grown to like it."

Markus could only grit his teeth in anger as his eyes watered. He could only roar in anger, "You son of a bitch! What have you done?"

"I have taken care of Rosaline," Garren remarked with sarcasm. He noticed the stake in Markus' hand and commented, "And you come prepared. Very good, I am impressed Markus."

Markus gritted his teeth in anger as he roared, "May Arkay's mercy absolve you, Vampire!"

Filled with rage, Markus charged at the Vampire and held high his stake in his right hand. In his left, lay a small shock spell. With enough force, and Garren being caught off guard, they tumbled to the ground as Markus ran into his brother. He then slammed the stake into Garren's left hand, pinning him down. The Vampire screamed in pain as the silver boiled his blood. Markus looked at him dead in the eye. Garren tried fighting back, and was successful in slashing Markus' face with bloodied marks. The Vampire Hunter returned the favor by placing his left hand — still holding the shock spell — on the left side of Garren's face. In pure agony, Garren screamed as his left eye was blinded and horrible marks and deformities were carved into his face. In a fury, he kicked Markus off of him with force and hastily removed the stake from his hand. His left hand now bore a hole within and he clenched it in pain.

"Damn you Markus!" he roared. He searched around the room for something to threaten with and eyed Ivan, who stood instilled with fear. Without hesitation, Garren grasped the boy by the arm and hollered:

"Move one step and the boy dies." The Vampire sneered then, knowing he had triumphed.

It was then that Markus looked up the Heavens and knelt down reverently.

"Yes, yes, bow before your superior!" Garren gloated in ecstasy. He observed Markus and then rose suspicion.

Markus was in deep thought, praying to the Nine Divines for help. _"Akatosh, God of Time. By all that is Holy, hear me out," _he prayed._ "Here lies a being defiling Arkay's cycle, who's kind are a blight upon this world, birthed by Daedra. I need your blessing for Dawn, so the Sun shall burn this monster to Oblivion."_

He opened his eyes and was amazed at what he saw. Just over the horizon, a blinding light was rising in the sky. Garren was laughing in victory when he felt himself smoking. He released the boy and turned towards the light.

"Agh! You would dare let your brother die?" he winced greatly and fell to a knee. His skin was burning by the sun. Markus was overjoyed to see this. _"Thank Akatosh! He heard me!"_

He walked up to Garren and knelt so they were of equal height. "It is only because we are brothers by blood, that I will give you this one chance of mercy. Leave," he said in a cold voice that shook Garren, "and never return. Think about what you have done, and forgive yourself. If you do not, then that is your choice. When next we meet, Garren... I will finish you."

The Vampire stared down Markus and knew he only had one choice. "Very well. I hope to see you again, brother. I will enjoy breaking you," he said as he began to dissipate in a dark, blood-mist. The last thing Markus heard was a dark laugh that would be the nightmare in his dreams for years to come.

All Markus could think about now was what had just transpired here. He looked at Ivan, still frozen in shock. Markus took hold of his son and wrapped him in his coat. He held him close and embraced him lovingly. "Don't worry my son," he whispered in Ivan's ear. "That monster will never harm you again. This I vow."


	2. Chapter 1

**Tirdas, 17th day of Last Seed, 4E 201 — Somewhere the Reach**

The night ambience of Skyrim filled Ivan Lucanus' ears with enough noise to wake him from what he thought was a short coma. From his eyes, he could only see mixed blurs and a bright orange light, and from the heat it gave off, he assumed that it was possibly a campfire. Wondering about this, he tried sitting up from the rock that he rested against.

"Agh!" he winced slightly, grasping his right leg in pain.

"You're awake? Thought you'd never wake up, your leg was pretty messed up when I found you here," said a voice close by.

Ivan's vision cleared, and he noticed now a young man sitting by the fire, stoking it with a stick. The man looked to be in his twenties, at least, from his short beard around his cheeks and chin. His hair was a dark brown that dropped greasily down to his shoulders and was braided on the left side. This man appeared to be possibly, a Breton. He then looked at Ivan with concerned eyes and asked, "Who are you anyway, if you don't mind me asking, and how did you end up here?"

The orange flames were the only thing Ivan was concentrated on at the moment, but he did reply to the man's question respectfully. "Name's Ivan Lucanus. I was brought to Skyrim after my mother was murdered by a Vampire, my father abandoned me and put me in the Riften Orphanage. When I came to be of age, I left in favor for opportunity in trade, as well as adventure. My parents were merchants you see, and so I wished to continue in their line of work."

The man continued to study Ivan as he listened. "A pleasure to meet you then, Ivan," he kindly replied. "I'm Knell. What I meant to ask you was, how did you get _here_?"

Ivan smirked at the Breton, clearly he was impressed by his question. He tried to sit up, careful not to harm his injured leg anymore. Nonetheless, he gritted his teeth quietly in discomfort. With a slight grin he answered Knell's question. "When I left the orphanage, I was sought opportunity and adventure, now that your civil war has begun, as well as the crisis regarding the return of the Dragons," Ivan began slowly, letting the words have time to sink in and have meaning. "With the Empire and these...Stormcloak rebels sharing bloodshed, their attentions are on the war...and not watching the roads, especially in the Reach where there are the Forsworn to deal with."

Knell listened intensively to Ivan, fully immersed in his explanation. "So you were ambushed by the Forsworn?"

"That is correct," Ivan replied with a slight sigh. "Though I was saved, by a rather mysterious figure."

Knell's eyes widened a bit in curiosity. "Any idea what this figure looked like?"

"Sure, I guess," Ivan nodded. "Black robed, long dark-brown hair, wrinkled face... Oh and strange eyes. Black filled pupils with glowing red irises. Got any idea on what I'm talking about?"

The Breton nearly lost breath and almost skipped a heartbeat from hearing Ivan's description. "You are certain this is what your, 'savior', looked like?"

Ivan simply nodded in return.

Knell thought for a moment and then looked at Ivan's neck. Two puncture marks lay still on his skin. His eyes grew wider than ever, he was afraid. Controlling himself, he finally replied to Ivan, "How do you feel at the moment?"

The young Imperial looked at the Breton in confusion for a moment, but nevertheless he responded. "I'm lightheaded, more or less feverish..." His head then fell into his hands as he groaned in slight pain, "No, I take that back. I am having a rather painful headache. Think I should lie down and rest for the night?"

"No," Knell replied as he shook his head. He knew what was wrong with Ivan, but he dare not verbally say it. "Feel your teeth, Ivan. Then tell me how you feel."

Ivan simply grinned, almost in a wicked way. He could feel Knell's heartbeat quicken from fear. Loud drums thundered, beat after beat. Ivan reveled in the new power he felt throughout his body. Two sharp fangs could be seen in his teeth, as he gazed at Knell with his new glowing yellow eyes. "I feel better than I have in a lifetime," he whispered.

The Breton quickly drew his sword as Ivan hissed, while he took a nearby burning piece of wood from the fire. They both looked ready to make their moves. But to Ivan's surprise, Knell did the unpredictable. His bones cracked and snapped as he reshaped himself, dark fur sprouting from his skin and out his ears. His teeth fell from his mouth with sharper canine teeth replacing them. His eyes changed to a menacing wolfish glare, as he growled loudly at the Vampire that was Ivan Lucanus.

The young Vampire chuckled humorously. "So we have ourselves a Lycanthrope? Charming... I shall enjoy drinking your precious blood, werewolf." He charged at Knell with quick speed, but he was not fast enough. Knell quickly pinned him down to the ground and roared in his face. Ivan was certain of his defeat, Knell was too strong.

But when all hope was lost, Ivan was once again saved in the least expected timing. The shrieking sound of bats caught their attention, as a shadowy figure appeared to them. It was of a man, that was not doubted. With similar glowing eyes to Ivan, the figure stood silently before hissing at the Lycanthrope. Knell whimpered loudly and released the young Vampire. He then ran away, into the dark forests.

"I see you take well to your new Gift, Ivan," the stranger spoke.

Ivan glared at the robed stranger suspiciously. "Who are you, and what do you mean by that?"

The figure sighed loudly and shook his head. "Who I am is not your concern, child. For now, you may call me, Master," he answered. "I have given you the Gift of Porphyric Hemophilia, and I see you have come to appreciate your transformation."

Ivan felt his fangs, he was a Vampire now. "I see, Master. So what now?"

"Now, you rest, allowing your new gift to fully settle in," the Elder Vampire grunted as he threw another log into the fire. "We awake, in the morrow, to test your strength against our kind's most hated enemy: the Sun. Its harsh tyranny has ruled our kind for millennia, and as a new fledgling, you must be exposed to its iron fist. Tomorrow, Ivan, you are not only being tested by the Sun, but by a greater power that you have yet to discover...our own Father and the Patron to our kind. He, shall see this through."

"As you wish," Ivan nodded reverently, walking to his bed roll. As he closed his eyes, he thought about the recent events that just occurred to him. He had arrived in Markarth only to be sent to an area, by the Silver-Blood family, that was said to be free of Forsworn activity and to hold great riches in which he could use for merchanting in the City of Stone. The Patriarch of the Silver-Blood family, Thonar, was wrong, and knew it. He sent the young Imperial to his death, only to be saved by this mysterious Vampire who he only knew as 'Master'. Did this stranger really save him, or did he only let him live to be used as a means to an end? We shall see.

Tonight ended with a surprising turn of events, wouldn't you agree?


	3. Chapter 2

Ivan awoke to a stinging sensation that hurt more than his small headache last night. He could feel his skin burning, but no skin was flaking off. It was more like the blood inside his veins was at its boiling point, perhaps beyond it. His mind was in a state of confusion, and as he tried to sit up from his bed-roll his own sight felt like a blur to him. But he sensed someone else was with him. Slowly, but eventually, his sight returned and by his side was the same Vampire he encountered the night before, whom he knew as 'Master'.

"Come now, Ivan Drakul. It is now that your trial begins," the Vampire advised. "The Sun's tyranny is effecting you already. You can feel it, can't you? It's sting is like a thousand needles piercing your skin, but I assure you that what your feeling is only a fraction of it's potential power. When you come to be like me, an Elder Vampire, you will understand the true agony that the Sun gives our kind."

The young fledgling, Ivan, rubbed his eyes and pondered upon the new name he was being regarded as. "Drakul? I believe you are misunderstood, Master. My name is Ivan Lucanus," he said to his Master. He also realized his throat was dry, he was thirsty. He clapped his lips together symbolizing his thirst.

His Master grinned in reply, his fangs revealed. "Ah, but of course, child. But no more will you go by that name, for you are named with a far more significant worth. You are now 'Drakul', meaning Vampire in the ancient tongue. I sense that your hunger, child. You crave for the taste of blood, do you not? Our Patron knows this."

Ivan simply nodded, "Yes Master. I must say, that with no offense to our Patron, my thirst exceeds my wish to be tested at the moment."

With a wink of assurance the Elder Vampire reached into a leather sack that hung over his shoulder, and retrieved a vial containing a red liquid, human blood. "It is understandable, Ivan," he assured kindly. "Our Father knows our constant hunger. It is with blood, that your weakness to the Sun decreases, but your strength as a Vampire also decreases. Know this."

Taking the vial, Ivan thanked his Master reverently before uncorking it and gulping down the organic liquid. Feeling satisfied, he grinned happily. "Also, if I may add, I have but one question for you."

His mentor's eyes beamed a bit, eager to hear Ivan's inquiry. "What is it that you wish to ask?"

"With no disrespect my Lord, I understand why you would not tell me this when first we met," Ivan began in a pride-filled, courteous manner. "But, I wish to question you with a request. I would like to know your name, how you became a Vampire, and how you found me."

The Elder Vampire gave off a death-rictus grin before replying to Ivan's request. "Ivan, your plea is quite acceptable. For if I was in your place, and encountered a stranger who not once revealed his name to me, I too would question him for his whereabouts. Very well, I am Garren Drakul; I too once went by the name 'Lucanus', but since abandoned it in favor of this superior title. You may call me by name, child, for we are of the same blood."

Ivan felt relieved, this Vampire was now the closest relative he had, next to his parents. There was something about the name though that struck him as familiar, but he couldn't quite place why. "As you wish, Garren. But also, how did you obtain Vampirism?"

"That is a fair question," Garren replied, "and I will answer it." He sat for a moment to recall his memory and then began to tell his tale. "I contracted the disease known as Porphyric Hemophilia on the night of Sun's Dusk, Loredas, 4E 175 from a landlord who I worked for. I killed him after he turned me, and I sought refuge. I found such a shelter in the dark family embrace of the Dark Brotherhood. Over the years I became one of their best assassins ever known, and I wish to invite you into this order. I oversee a particular group of family members in Skyrim, and you will be a perfect addition. What say you?"

Understanding what Garren had said, Ivan signaled acknowledgement. He was intrigued by this story, very much so. "The Dark Brotherhood? I have always heard about them, but not once would I think to be contacted by their Listener, let alone be invited. I accept your invitation, Garren. But what will I get from joining the Brotherhood?"

"You will become a full-bred assassin. A cold-hearted killer," Garren began thoughtfully. "As such, you will be the wolf that stalks its prey, and will find this ever-easier as a Vampire. Your night-vision will make the darkness appear as dawn, and will enhance your vision so you may sense any nearby life. As a champion of the night, and a child of our Father, you will be able to take your revenge on the Silver-Blood family in Markarth."

A broad smile appeared on Ivan's face, he was pleased. "One more thing I wish to ask. Who is, our Patron?"

"Of course," Garren grimly chuckled, "you do not know. Our Father is known by many names. He is the King of Rape, the Harvester of Souls, the Patriarch of all Vampires. But, child, I believe you will know him best as Molag Bal, Daedric Prince of Domination and Enslavement."

Ivan's eyes widened, surprised and intrigued. "A Daedric Prince... Impressive, I must say. Now, where will I find the lair holding the Dark Brotherhood."

"There is only one Sanctuary in Skyrim that houses the family I over-see. It is the last remnant in all of Tamriel, to be exact," Garren explained thoughtfully. "After the Great War thirty years ago, our organization fell into a state of hiding. The Thalmor sought to exterminate our kind. I lead them into the forests of Falkreath, in the most southern border of Skyrim, to this Sanctuary and there they stay."

"Seems like the Thalmor were after more than the Rebels who stood against them," Ivan remarked, politely motioning Garren to continue.

Clearing his throat and retrieving a closed envelope from his pack, he handed it to Ivan and said, "When you arrive at the Sanctuary, give this to Festus Krex, it will explain your story him and why I have chosen you to join us. Remember what I have taught you."

Ivan dressed himself into his adventuring gear and nodded at his forefather. "As you wish, my Lord." With that, the newly named Ivan Drakul arose from his seat and turned to leave when Garren interrupted him.

"Do not disappoint me, Ivan. Shadow hide you." With that, Ivan nodded as he left and headed south-east to Falkreath.


	4. Chapter 3

The moment he realized that he had to join the prominent assassins guild, The Dark Brotherhood, Ivan came to the conclusion that it was the workings of Garren. Knowing this, he abided so and prioritized himself to find a way to contact them directly. Perhaps since his Uncle Garren, is their listener, maybe he would let him in.

Garren gave him directions as how to reach their base of operations. Hidden in the great forests of Falkreath, one of the nine holds in Skyrim, was the Brotherhood's last refuge in all of Tamriel. Ivan finally arrived at the entrance, guarded by a tall black door. On this door was a huge skull with a dark inky handprint branded onto the forehead. Below this skull was what appeared to be a skeleton laying against a wall looking at three five other smaller skulls. One of them on the top had a dagger impaled into it. Ivan then proceeded to 'knock' on the door.

**_"_****_What is the music, of life?"_** asked a dark, raspy voice. The sound reverberated against the walls of the stone cave. The door had just talked to him, posing a question. He decided he should answer it, and thought for a moment. He had some options for an answer, but didn't think they would work out well. Then with a reassuring deep breath he answered, "Silence, my brother."

And then, there was _silence_. The air quieted down and it felt like as if time had either slowed or stopped. A rush of excitement and curiosity washed over him as he heard the door creep open with dust and cobwebs falling to the ground. Finally the door stopped moving and Ivan saw a dark stairwell leading down into the earth. Again there was a moment of silence, making Ivan think what his next move should be. A strangely familiar chill swept around him as the voice whispered once more, **_"Welcome, home."_**

Ivan then descended down the stairs, leading him to red cloth banners printed with the same inky handprint that he saw on the door. This led him to the assumption that this 'Black Hand' was the insignia for the Dark Brotherhood. As he dived the steps he began to notice with each step he took, that this was no mere cave but an ancient bastion dedicated to the primitive art of murder. Most of the wall architecture looked hundreds, if not thousands of years old.

Eventually he arrived at the bottom floor, and there before him was another door, this one being made of wood and iron. He pushed it open and entered another room. From his view he could see many things of that filled the otherwise empty room; a desk covered in maps with daggers marking specific locations, bookshelves filled with all sorts of literature, more shelves holding other trinkets and oddities such as skulls and alchemical instruments, and armor mannequins. Leaning against the desk was a wrinkled man garbed in black and red cloth with both sides of him printing The Black Hand insignia. His eyes glinted with years of experience as well as some ignorance.

"Stop right there! Who dares to invade our Sanctuary? Speak," the man said sternly, arming himself with a pair of Ebony twin daggers as he looked up at the shrouded figure lurking in the darkness. As the young vampire stepped from the shadows and revealed his face, the elder noticed Ivan's facial features—His gaunt, pale face and cold glowing eyes glared with hunger. His jet black hair hang down to his shoulders, and his regal goatee covered his upper and lower lips perfectly—and gasped in shock.

"_You_," he said . "So you're the lad Garren spoke about. I'm Festus Krex, one of the more elderly members of this Sanctuary. Take a seat then." The man gestured to a nearby bench that they would sit on.

Ivan simply nodded in understanding as he took a seat on the bench. "Much obliged, Mr. Krex. I am Ivan Drakul, sent by a distant relative of mine. It fits a man such as him to be one of your organizations best assassins I suppose, being a skillful Vampire and all," he said, withdrawing a note from his pocket. It was a sealed envelope. "I was told to give you this."

Festus took the envelope and nodded curtly, "Thank you. This will explain a lot, won't it?

"More than you think," Ivan replied with a smirk. "Now, let us get down to business, shall we?"

The elderly man nodded in fair agreement, "Yes, time is a precious thing after-all." He lead him to the same desk he saw earlier and pointed a specific part of the map, in the southern direction the hold of Markarth. "The Black Sacrament has been completed in the city of Markarth, Ivan. Your target is Thonar Silver-Blood, Patriarch of the ruling family. It is a special assignment that your Uncle thought you would find... pleasure in completing."

As Festus continued to detail Ivan in what would be his first contract, he decided it would be time to inquire his understanding on the matter, "Eliminating the Silver-Blood Family's Patron will put quite a dent in Markarth's reputation. I will take great, personal pleasure in relieving him of his duty, while keeping the Forsworn in check." He gave off a humorous, yet sickening grin that revealed his fangs.

With a sigh of annoyance, though not specifically directed at Ivan, Festus nodded in accordance. "Exactly! Now, don't get yourself killed out there. If what Garren says is true, you could be quite the addition to our family, Ivan." He had hope for him, he could sense promise in him so he held for both Ivan, and his Listener.

"Oh don't worry," Ivan replied sternly. "I will return, dear Festus. Soon, our family will be back in business, you wait and see." Ivan then walked towards the door leading to the staircase and with one last glance back at Festus, he ascended up to the surface and began his life in the Dark Brotherhood.


	5. Chapter 4

The mildly hot sun paid an annoying toll on Ivan Drakul as he strode towards his destination, exhaustion; being a Vampire has its disadvantages. He had been riding for at least four days now by foot because he wanted to avoid any suspicion. This first contract would prove to be challenging because he would have to adapt to the night-time and the ways of stealth. It will take all of his stealth skills to complete this contract successfully and discreetly.

Over his head he wore a black hood to cover his vampiric eyes and now sunken cheeks, as well as to reduce the heat from the sun. He was still a fledgling, so fortunately the sun didn't do permanent harm to him. As he drew closer to his goal, Markarth, he could make out the City of Stone's architecture. The ancient Dwemer were truly excellent at masonry.

A nearby guard halted him to stop as he approached him. He spoke with a very deep bass Nordic accent as he explained, "This is Markarth, traveler. Safest city in the Reach. Best you not cause any trouble while here, or you'll end up in Cidhna Mine."

"I'm only here to pay visit to an old friend," Ivan replied with a slight smirk. "Haven't seen him in a while, best not to keep him waiting, so if you will excuse me..." He then ignored the guard and went on his way through the main gates.

Upon entering Markarth he noticed a crowd of people gathered in the market with guards surrounding. He assumed it was another Forsworn incident. It was none of his business, so he moved past them, on his way to the Silver-Blood treasury house. When he found the house, he opened the door and waltzed right in like it was his own.

He came to a reception desk with a young Breton woman behind it. She looked quite lovely. "I'm looking for Thonar Silver-Blood," said Ivan in a quick tone.

The woman rolled her eyes annoyingly and said, "Look sir, Thonar Silver-Blood doesn't take visitors, especially from strangers so you'll just-" Her eyes looked at the note Ivan had placed in front of her, a black hand-print. "You're from...the Dark Brotherhood?"

Ivan nodded in reply and sneered, "Best to not keep me waiting then." He turned away from her and strode past the doors to Thonar's bedroom. There he waited until nightfall to strike.

When night fell, Ivan made his move. The middle-aged Nord slept away in his stone bed, snoring loudly. Ivan approached the sleeping Patron and shook him from his slumber.

"What the—who are you? How did you get in here?" asked Thonar rudely as he tried pinning Ivan down, but he was thrown against the stone wall roughly in defense.

Ivan simply grinned with malicious intent. "Surely you don't recognize one of your former employees, Silver-Blood? A burly Nord like you would remember sending a helpless merchant out to certain death, in where you claimed was free of Forsworn."

Thonar's face blushed and his eyes watered in fear. Ivan had now removed his cowl to instill him with the image of his transformed face. Cheeks gaunt and sunken, eyes glowing coldly through his soul, and sharp white fangs protruding his mouth. "Ivan Lucanus... No, this is impossible! You're a monster!"

The youthful vampire growled when hearing his former surname. It filled him with pure anger, "That name, has no longer any meaning to me, Silver-Blood. I am known as Drakul now. Know that it is because of you, that I am better, faster, and stronger...for that I must oblige you. But, my thirst for revenge is far greater than your greed." He looked at the Nord and noticed his nose bloodied and caused him the smack his lips and his tongue to curl over his fangs lustfully. "Speaking of thirst... I've gone without blood for five days straight, but I shouldn't have to starve my quench any longer. Your blood will taste so, refreshing and pure..."

A loud manly scream could be heard echoing throughout the home of the Silver-Blood family, yelling pleas of mercy and so on and so forth. Ivan paid no heed to Thonar's begging and drank him up till he was literally bone-dry. He emerged from the Silver-Blood treasury house with his lips dripping in blood as he licked them clean. He then left Markarth, riding into the bleak night.

**_So ends a contract, bound in blood._**


	6. Chapter 5

Ivan returned to the Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood later that night and approached Festus Krex with the news of his completed contract. His new assassin leather was covered in the blood of Thonar Silver-Blood, such was the effect from draining the Nord's blood from his body.

"Ah you're back, good," the elderly assassin called as he walked over to Ivan with his arms crossed. "Word travels faster than you realize Ivan. So the Patriarch of the Silver-Blood family is dead at last, at the hands of the Dark Brotherhood...most excellent."

The initiate assassin merely grinned with pleasure as he withdrew something from his pack. In his hand, he held the bloodied and decapitated head of Thonar Silver-Blood. He tossed it to Festus and said, "Take it as a trophy, or something to feed our pets. I have no use for it."

Krex nodded in and threw the head into a room next to him filled with hungry wolves. At first sight, they all dived in and had their fair share of the head, tearing and choking down the flesh and gnawing on the bone. He returned his gaze to Ivan and pulled out an envelope from his pocket. "I believe this is for you, Drakul. Garren wished for it to be for your eyes only."

As Ivan took the envelope from Krex's hands, he scanned the envelope and opened it and scanned its contents which read,

_Ivan,_

_You have more than proven your loyalty and value as a Dark Brotherhood assassin. Your swift rise in success has shown me that you are an agent of stealth and devilry. But, some of your contracts were unfortunately affiliated with an order of those who would hunt our kind: Vampire hunters. They are stationed in south-western Cyrodiil. I'm sure you'll be enjoying this particular task Ivan, because I am sending you to your hometown of Kvatch._

_The organization is lead by a man who I have not yet identified but I do know he is not only a direct threat to our existence, but to our purpose to spread our ways; Molag Bal's gift to us. They have also established a coalition with the city guard, so it would be wise to not be noticed after you execute this contract._

_I have researched through many libraries for answers. One by one I checked for signs; years spent looking through old tomes and forgotten sources of knowledge — and I only found little about them. What I did learn, however, was enough to track them down._

_The order goes by the name of "Nosferatu Venatores", meaning Vampire Hunters in a long forgotten tongue. Let me make myself clear Ivan: kill, or be killed. Let none survive this onslaught, and give into the darkness of rage!_

_When the weak plead for mercy before your very knees, and you if so as doubt your efforts, ask yourself this: Do you think they would hesitate to kill you, a __**monster**__ like you?_

_It would be wise to remember who brought you up to where you are in the Dark Brotherhood, Drakul, because should you gain the slightest bit of uncertainty about your allegiance to me, your soul shall be mine and you will __**never**__ know mercy._

_Shadow hide you, Child of the Night._

_~Garren_

He raised his eyes and stared at Festus Krex. A sly, malicious grin formed on his face which made the elder furrow his brow.

"What are you smiling at, Assassin?" he asked with revealed irritation.

Ivan's face leveled into a faceless expression. Moments of pure, utter silence passed until he broke the stillness. "Well, it looks like Garren is letting me go on a vacation. Cyrodiil is quite lovely right now, perfect time for a visit."

Krex's face lightened up with a slight surprise. "Hmm, very well. Off you go then, it would be a grave mistake to stall him."

"Yes yes Festus. You are right," Ivan mused to the elder before him. "Good bye."


	7. Chapter 6

**Loredas, 15th day of Frostfall, 4E 202—Border between Skyrim and Cyrodiil**

Tonight was going to be a harsh one. Ivan Drakul's vampirism caused his body to become quite quenched in thirst. The in-human craving for blood was one of the weaknesses for Vampires like Ivan. He was well educated by Garren about the ways of the Vampire, and knew that had you gone for too long without feeding you would start to have spasms and suffer from pain in the stomach, throat and throughout your body... and eventually die. The young assassin was well aware that he had to find someone soon, or he would surely become a feral beast, driven mad by his own uncontrollable addiction.

He could now start to barely make out Cyrodiil's outlines beyond the mountains he was trekking within. Beautiful, lush green countryside covered the vast Colovian Highlands. Oak and fir trees, forest brush, and tall grass lay implanted in the ground with moss covering some of the rocks. This area was prime game for deer, wolves, and other wilderness life.

Ivan stalked the woodland; his footsteps muffled by his careful sneak skills. He scanned the area for any signs of civilizations and from a distance could see a tall walled-off city that he could only guess to be Kvatch. The imposing walls blocked access to the city, and he knew well that the city guard were not going to just let a Dark Brotherhood assassin inside their walls. He surveyed the the city ramparts in front of him and got an idea. He opened his satchel he brought with him and foraged through it to find a grappling hook and tightly bound rope. Ivan looked up high and with all his strength, swung the rope and threw it towards the walls arch. With much success, the hook caught hold of the walls, and Ivan sneered with triumph. Now determined he was going to actually start this mission off right, he scaled up the stone and reached the top, which was an empty archer post. With speed he then re-attached the hook and descended down to the ground and hid within thick brush.

Now within city boundaries, Ivan put away his grappling supplies and stalked the streets, looking for weak men who were the squealers of information. He found the dark and narrow alleyways of Kvatch to be full of them. It was only a matter of time before Ivan shadowed over one of the dwellers and grabbed hold of his shoulder and clasped a hand over his mouth.

"Make one noise, and I cut your throat. So you better cooperate with me if you value your life," the Vampire spoke, in a harsh commanding voice. "What do you know about the organization called 'Nosferatu Venatores'? And don't even think about lying, tell me everything."

The kidnapped hostage—whom Ivan identified as a young Imperial with short brown hair and five o'clock shadow, who definitely had the look of a squealer about him—tried to speak, but stuttered in shock. "Please s-sir, d-don't kill me."

Ivan's face flashed the slightest hint of anger as he leaned in closer to the man and whispered ever so silently. "Keep prattling, and I will. Now, speak."

As Ivan settled back to his previous posture, the Nord quickly responded, this time sounding more composed and stuttered less, "All's I know, is that there's been some whispers about some folk at the inn, who've hunted Vampires and other monsters, but it's mostly rubbish. That's all I know, I swear by the Divines. Now please, don't give me any more trouble." Ivan sighed in annoyance before retrieving a mere Septim from his coin-purse.

"You're no longer of use to me, so mind yourself," the Vampire answered as he tossed the coin to the man. "Here's for the information. Much obliged." The man then ran away from him, sprinting out into the streets.

Ivan exited the alleys and headed in the direction the man pointed him out on. He found the tavern at last. It's welcoming sign read, "The Hearty Fox — Erected in honor of the Hero of Kvatch". Upon entering the building, he saw men at tables drinking their flagons of ale. Laughter echoed through the wooden walls, and shouts for more drink could be heard from the other side of the inn. Ivan approached the bar and scanned for anyone suspicious. Most of the attendees were easily distinguishable due to a lot of them being drunkards, but after a bit of searching he spotted a man relaxing in a chair at the far end of the inn.

A young man, bald with dark brown chin curtain beard. His eyes were of a bright emerald green and to Ivan he looked like an experienced hunter. His garb consisted of a forest green shirt with cuffed sleeves, worn brown pants, and rugged leather boots; not too fancy, yet not too worn. Around his neck hung a silver chained medallion, bearing the symbol of Arkay embedded in the center of a cross of sorts. Ivan strode toward him, and extended a hand towards the man in greeting.

"Come with me, hunter," Ivan said to the man. The man's eyes flinched slightly, a bit surprised with the title he was being addressed with; not many knew of his occupation, and any that heard were either were members of his order and believed him, or were idiots that thought he was crazy.

He stumbled out of the chair he was sitting on and stuttered a reply, "Wh-who are you, and wh-why do you want to do that?"

Ivan then smiled at the man and placed a calm hand on his shoulder. His quiet and eased voice relaxed the man and left him in almost a blank 'trance'. "Hush now," he remarked. "There is no need for questions, Venatore. Tell me everything about your group."

The man then replied with an answer, "Follow me then." He then led Ivan to a building that brought a haunting memory, one he thought to have had long suppressed. But there was something more, he felt; a more baleful presence that made the uneasiness much worse. He shivered in surprise at what he recognized to be his former home, now looking unkempt and abandoned. It's once new and ornate windows and wooden doors were now covered in dust. The man then stopped, and knocked three times on the door.

Then a small window on the door slid open and a voice sounded in questioning, "What is the Hunter's way?"

"Bound by order, serve to protect," the man responded and the door opened. He stepped to the side and let Ivan enter. The unknown voice belonged to a young man who looked like an inexperienced novice to this order. Once the door closed Ivan quickly turned the tables for these two men and slit both of their throats. The Vampire grinned in delight as he drained both of them dry, allowing him to rejuvenate his strength. Moving on with the mission, he was still curious as to why this bastion was stationed here. He scanned around now for clues and found that within the family den, a bookshelf left open. A passage way was carved into the wall with a stairway leading down into the earth. Ivan decided he should investigate.

He waltzed down the steps until he was in the lobby of his former home. This lobby had a table, chairs, and some shelves but that was it. There were three black leathered men sitting at the table, eating on some roast beef, bread, and Alto Wine. They quickly turned to Ivan, startled by his sudden appearance.

"You!" they started in unison as they rose from their seats. One of the men squinted at Ivan and could see the cold hunger in Ivan's eyes. "I can see through your disguise, Vampire." Ivan was impressed with the absence of fear in the man's tone of voice, and his ability to see through his concealing magic.

"Stand aside, brother. I am Ivan Drakul, renowned assassin and hand of Garren Drakul," the Imperial Vampire quickly defended himself. "Perhaps you may have heard of me?"

The man replied back with a startling statement, "What?! Garren yet lives? How long has it been, ten years? Well then, grab a hold of him men, wait till Markus hears about this!"

Ivan stumbled a bit surprised as the men charged at him and pinned him against the wall. He was then flooded with that dark, anger-filled energy. It caused his eyes to glow with a blood red hue. The men then backed away with obvious fear, as Ivan shouted with utmost hate, "The night is still young, and there is blood to drink. Rejoice, and be glad! For you both shall serve a purpose, my own hunger."

He then grabbed both of them on the shoulders roughly and as they screamed in agony, he bit both of them in the neck, causing them to bleed profusely. He indulged in the ichor of their bodies, and satisfied his hunger once more. His once caved in jaws and cheeks filled, and became livelier and less blood-starved. Ivan breathed deeply in a fulfillment of ecstasy as he shrouded his face with his cowl.

But, just then six more armored men ran into the room, with armed silver stakes at their hands pointed at him. They all wore similar armor to the two men he just murdered, except they hide their faces with hood. It was also at this time, that a seventh man entered the chamber. His well-aged face was hidden from his cowl, but Ivan could see that he sported a thick gray handle-bar styled mustache. He had a deep baritone quality, commanding and smooth. It was vaguely familiar, though Ivan could not place why or how it was so.

"Hold men," the elderly man ordered. Now looking at the Vampire, he spoke sharply, "What have you done, Vampire? Why have you come here, and slaughtered my men? I know no-one that is informed of my order's existence, so how did you find your way in here? Speak." With a final word he then removed his hood with his left hand before taking a brown, leather-bound tome from his satchel.

The face that was revealed to Ivan startled him, though he knew enough to hide his expression. Aged, but not old, this man was probably between his mid-fifties to late-sixties in years, but surprisingly in fair physical condition. He wore a dark brown shirt with collared sleeves that included silver cufflinks bearing the symbol of Arkay. His pants were of brown leather, as were his boots; nothing too special.

Ivan tried to calm himself at who he was gazing at, it bewildered him beyond belief. _"No, this cannot be;" _he reasoned with himself,_ "a decade later, and he waltzes in here... alive!? Certainly I must be dreaming." _He could only stare at the face of his father, whom he previously thought to be dead.

"Well, are you just going to stand there gawking, or answer?" Ivan's father, Markus Lucanus, asked once more while eyeing the Vampire.

With a deep breath, Ivan then removed his hood. His face; pale as snow and though they were more filled than before, you could see that his cheeks were gaunt and starved. His pale red eyes glowed brightly and set a blood-curdling realization to the man before him. Ivan summoned enough nerve to reply.

"I was wondering when you, Markus Lucanus, would acknowledge your own son." The young Vampire strode around the man that was his father with arrogance and hatred, always keeping eye-contact with the old man who now shown surprise. Markus was a bit startled at the sight of his boy's face.

Ivan continued to prattle on as he mused about. His voice rose with volume and anger, he really knew how to hold a grudge. "The son that whose mother he failed to save, and in his shame, abandoned; left to rot in a Gods-forsaken orphanage for the rest of his life. Time passed, and soon I grew to hate you. When I left Riften I went my own way; I wished for a new father-figure to be in my life. You are no father to me, old man. You are but a memory in my past."

"Ivan... my son," Markus said weakly. His tear-watered eyes showed a true, feeling of sorrow. "By the Nine Divines, what happened to you?"

Ivan smirked at his father's disapproval of his gift. It only strengthened his thirst for blood. With an annoyed sigh he answered, "And now I see how lost you are, old man. Still you call me your son, how mistaken. My Master, Garren Drakul, bestowed the gift of Vampirism unto me. I am his hand, and his heir to power. You will not stand in my way of that."

Markus' eyes blinked and his jaw dropped, now agape in disbelief. His eyes glared now in hardened anger as he said in a hushed voice, "So, what my men said is in-fact true... Garren Drakul yet lives, even after I spared him." He then began to pace around Ivan, with his right hand gripping the hilt of his sheathed silver blade, should he need it. "But, that brings me to ask you this, Ivan," Markus began as he strode about. Then with cleverness, he asked, "Do you know why he led you here to me?"

Ivan thought about this and was confused, just as Markus had planned. Markus charged at his son and tackled him to the ground with a thud. They fought for control, struggling to hold each-other down. But Markus was quick to think and as his hand glowed a bright yellow, and placed his hand on Ivan's forehead, which caused it to burn in small flames and leave a small mark.

"Agh!" Ivan roared in pain as he threw Markus off him, now rubbing his forehead. But, something made him now feel a bit... off. He felt a horrible dread and shame unlike any other, which made Ivan unable to bear looking at his father. It was then, that all the lies that Garren had indoctrinated into him were gone, and erased from his memory. Here and now, only the truth remained.

Now knowing that his father had abandoned him after his mother had been killed by Garren, Ivan shook his head in almost disbelief. In a hoarse, squeaky voice—alike to how one would sound if they were crying—he asked, "Why? Why did you let her die? Why do you leave me to be raised by in Honorhall? How dare you call yourself my father! How dare–"

Markus replied with a loud harsh response, "Silence, Ivan! Enough! I did not want you to become prey to _him_! I tried doing what I failed to do for your mother—to save you! What has happened, has happened and can never be changed. Only the future lies in our grasp of understanding, we can only make things better, never worse. But it appears that I've been proven wrong, because not only has Garren found you, but he has also infected you with his monstrous disease. I swore to eradicate all of his kind, to wipe off the name of Drakul from Tamriel. Garren now laughs at me, because I have lost."

Ivan stared into his father's steel-blue eyes for a long moment, then sighed. "I was sent here by him to kill you. Wow, and to think what would've happened had I done so... Listen father, I'm finished with him and the Dark Brotherhood. I wish to start a new life, free from," he motioned to his Vampiric eyes and fangs and finished, "Free from this."

Markus nodded as he took hold of his silver medallion similar to the one the man from the inn wore. He removed it from his neck and held it in his palm, clenching his fist softly. He then closed his eyes and whispered, _"Noble Arkay, hear my prayer. I ask that you heal this lost soul, my son Ivan. Exile the darkness from him and return him from this state of Un-Death. Place an aura of protection from Daedra and the children of Molag Bal. Let him not fall to temptation, let him be strong and stand up for himself. Heal him, Mighty Arkay, absolve his sins and free him from Molag Bal's will!"_

A warm, wrinkled hand was placed on Ivan's forehead with the cold silver stinging his scalp. Ivan closed his eyes tight winced in pain, and ached. A blinding light flashed before him and caused him to re-open his eyes. He felt more lively then he had in years, and could swear he felt tears pouring from his eyes. Beaming a genuinely thankful, and happy smile he and his Father embraced in a long father-and-son hug.

"I'm sorry, for everything," Ivan wept deeply. "I promise to right my wrongs, starting by dedicating myself to your order. Thank you, father. I love you."

Markus returned the embrace and replied softly, "Indeed I do, my son. You are forgiven. I promise you this: Justice shall be made today, and it shall be swift." He too, was crying. He was happy; he had reunited with his son for the first time in ten years and now they could catch up on lost time. But first things first, he had a main priority on his hands. Garren Drakul had to be dealt with, once and for all.


	8. Chapter 7

Justice was to be carried out today. Ivan was set on enacting retribution upon his Uncle Garren Drakul. He knew all too well that he was going against one of Cyrodiil's most renown assassins for the past fifty years, but that didn't bother him. He himself was trained by this man, a lucky mistake on Garren's behalf.

Ivan, Markus, and the rest of his order were trekking through the Jerall Mountains within the borders of Cyrodiil during a blizzard. It was now that they saw their destination! There, before their very eyes—perhaps three to four miles in front of them—was a gray-stone castle covered in snow. It was about twenty feet high and had four strong towers at each corner. It was no "Castle Skingrad" for sure, but still quite intimidating while surrounded by this harsh snowstorm.

Then they arrived at its gates, this let them inspect it further. Thick, well-kept supporting walls, with arrow-slits where archers could attack and windows for wizards to set off their spells. It even had a gatehouse, complete with a slot for a rusted, unused portcullis. Upon passing through the gatehouse, they were greeted by the sight of the small main keep. Dead leafless trees stuck out from the ground while two big intimidating doors guarded the interior of this bastion.

"Remember," Ivan hushed quietly to his father and the group behind him, "when I open these doors, you are to consume the invisibility potions I gave you earlier." He eyed his father sternly and nodded.

Ivan slammed them open with fury, and the two doors hit the side walls so hard they would move no more. The echoing from the colliding doors rumbled throughout the large room before them. As the sound quieted down, Markus and his hunters fell silent among the shadows and followed Ivan. Dimly lit wax candles gave the only light in this fortress. It was heavily cobwebbed, a place spooky even for these two assassins. From the looks of it, this was either a lobby or a throne room. A ragged, gold-trimmed red carpet lay beneath their feet with each step they took. Ivan paced swiftly, excited for the moment. He was then suddenly stopped, specifically startled by a familiar, unnerving noise; a deep accented laugh that sounded the frightening of a thousand souls. Ivan's eyes quickly darted to its source, coming from directly in front of him.

A tall, imposing and ornately made throne cut from stone and tempered with Ebony lay before him. Blood covered skulls covered the ends of each arm-rest; the eye sockets filled with precious rubies. Atop the head-rest was a carving that depicted a demon's head with long horns coming from its scalp and sharp teeth in its mouth. It wore a piercing, angered face with baleful eyes; much alike to the person seated in the throne. Garren Drakul relaxed lazily in his seat of sovereignty. His aging eyes gazed at Ivan with appreciation; proud of Ivan's fast advancement. Ivan had only been with him for three years and he already had achieved the rank of Lieutenant. The Elder Vampire arose from his self-acclaimed throne and began an introduction of sorts.

"The blood of the hunters resonates strong from you, Lieutenant Drakul," Garren began in his thick Cyrodilic accented voice which resounded throughout the large dark hall. "The lives of men who lived to abolish our kind are now dead. Know now that they were but a means to an end. By killing this order of Vampire Hunters, you not have only secured our place in history, but have also insured that the pact I made with our Dark Lord. Now our kind rule Tamriel with a cold iron fist, and our sovereignty will come to an absolute perfection. Bravo, a job well done..."

Garren's eyes then darted around Ivan's standpoint. He sniffed the air with his nose subtly and then glared at Ivan and voiced his thoughts with angered intent, but did not show it in his voice.

"There is a foul smell in this hall, Ivan, one that reeks of mortal flesh," he said as he then strode towards Ivan, descending from the small steps that led to his self-proclaimed throne. "It almost seems like it's coming from you..." His tone was cunning; hinting towards Ivan. When he was face-to-face with his nephew, he merely showed a wickedly amused grin.

Garren's eyes looked into Ivan's and growled in displeasure. He glared at his nephew with abhorrence; both disappointed and surprised at Ivan's change in allegiance. He could see that his nephew had not only cured himself of the gift he passed to him, but from the scent he caught he knew the boy had brought along some friends with him. He knew now who else's blood he sniffed, and returned to his composed face with the addition of a slight grin.

"Well now," he added with a chuckle, "this is a surprise. It's been too long since we've had a family reunion. Did you really think your little plot to kill me would go un-noticed, let alone inside my own dominion? What child's play, to think you could hide yourselves from an Elder Vampire?" His eyes darted to where Markus hid. Garren let a menacing, vicious grin arise upon his lips as he made Markus' disguise disappear.

"Markus!" Garren exclaimed. "My dear, dear brother. How have you been? Still bitter about Roseline aren't you? Nasty business that was, but necessary."

"You were wrong to return here, Venatore," he continued. "When last we met I was but a weak mongrel, foraging for all the power I could attain. Now I have earned my place as Lord, and you shall soon understand your own. You and your pathetic army will be no match for me, know that now."

As the disguises of Markus' party dissipated, the old man that was Garren's brother glared at his kin with much distaste. "You sound awful confident for a man who was defeated by sunlight. Molag Bal's dark influence knows no bounds it seems. Even his dominating authority can corrupt the strong minds of those who sought to kill his children."

Ivan looked back at his father in confusion, "You mean Garren once fought Vampires?"

"Of course I did," Garren answered in a cold annoyance. "But that was another life, one which ended a long time ago. I now serve the Lord of Domination in ways which your mind can never comprehend. I shall make him pleased, as I rip your bloodied hearts out from your alive bodies and give them to him as offerings."

Ivan fought the urge to make any sudden moves on Garren just yet. Instead he kept his face neutral and retorted back a well-thought strike to his Uncle. "I'm not afraid of you, monster. Your horrific visions will never see the light of day. I will see to it that you and this pact ends now."

"So," Garren replied with a dark, bone-chilling guffaw, "this boy has the fangs of a Dragon yet the mind of a buffoon? How enlightening, but you will soon learn your place. I have secured myself as King above you mortal meat. No more will men hunt the Vampire, but it will be _Men_ who become the cattle to quench our thirst."

"Enough of this! Your life ends now!" Ivan roared and charged at Garren briskly but was in vain as the Elder Vampire moved fast with shadow and was gone. Ivan looked back and glared at his opponent who was laughing.

"Quick-minded and arrogant, how pathetic! Your mistakes will be punished with your father's death. Then, he shall serve me in death as a thrall. Perhaps he may be more useful than you would have. We shall see," Garren pronounced as he moved to Markus for an attack. Ivan was quick though and threw one of his daggers at Garren, who dodged. This left Markus a few seconds to move out of the way of Garren and let Ivan get into close combat with his great-uncle. Both men cast their weapons aside and cracked their knuckles in preparation. They ended up fighting as they were both taught in the Dark Brotherhood: unarmed melee combat; punches, kicks, uppercuts, and back-breakers.

Garren held both fists up and thrusted at Ivan's face while the young assassin ducked and in less than five seconds punched his fists at Garren's stomach. Garren—a Vampirism and with plenty of experience in combat—still had his weak spots. Garren pushed Ivan's chest back and sent him ten feet away to the floor. He bought himself some time to run for the top balcony, there he could escape. But Ivan quickly got back on his feet and sent Markus after him. Ivan was running in the back, letting himself catch his breath.

Markus Lucanus ran with eagerness to do some harm to his wife's murderer, Garren. He armed himself with his silver stake. Garren caught notice of the very same stake that almost ended him and his blood ran cold, he was surely doomed now. Scared now more than before, his feet ran faster and faster. He sprinted to the balcony as fast as his legs would let him and surely enough he barged through the two wooden doors and was soon outside. The freezing wind greeted him but being resilient to the cold as a Vampire, it paid no heed.

"You are outrun, beaten, and will pay for your crimes," Markus said boldly. "May Arkay's mercy absolve you, Vampire!" He held high the silver stake. Garren could only maniacally laugh as he was reminded when Markus told him those very words years ago, on the night he killed Ivan's mother.

"Just like old times, eh Markus? Old habits die hard, you know. I'm going to enjoy killing you," Garren voiced with malice. "When I killed your wife, you won only with the help from the Sun. As I have said, I will not be overcome by you again. Come now, like a lamb to the slaughterhouse, and embrace your fate!"

"Oh shut up already! I've had enough of your endless talking, Garren. You go on, and on, and on and never stop. I'm going to rip your mouth from your face so the world will never have to hear your annoying speeches!" Ivan snapped loudly as his eyes glowed bright red, fueling with rage. He ran at Garren full speed, so fast that it surpassed the Elder Vampire's own agility and kicked him in the chest. In less than two seconds Ivan had forced Garren through the stone railing to holding on the edge, looking over a frozen lake below. Ivan held his hand and gripped Garren by the neck and brought him to where he held his body over the lake. He could clearly see the scar his father made before. Garren squirmed and hollered in fear and protest, as he tried to free himself.

"Think about what you are doing Ivan," the Elder Vampire spat helplessly. He now looked at Ivan's face; determined to give judgment here and now, once and for all. "What would killing me achieve?"

"Nothing for you," Ivan replied. "Only the satisfaction that you are dead, and that your pact with Daedra dies with you. Ashes, to ashes."

Garren scoffed deeply and closed his eyes. His lips formed into a death-rictus grin and he began a maniacal laugh that showed his insanity. Ivan grinned too, knowing what was coming next.

"Funny, a shame this has to end now," he mentioned. He turned and nodded to Markus who threw his silver stake at Garren. Surprisingly it pierced into the Elder Vampire square in the chest.

The surprise attack left Garren gasping for breath and speechless. Ivan released his grip and let his great-uncle fall to his knees. The Elder Vampire was greatly weakened by the stake, and looking up at the sky at this time was even worse for him. It was just as dawn was rising, the sun bright and bold in the sky. This was bad news for Garren, who was defenseless. His body fried in the heat and went ablaze in flames. The smell of burning flesh was now evident.

Just when Garren would have been completely fried, he saved one last bit of Vampiric strength to rise up and remove the silver stake, scarring his hand in the process.

"You came close, I'll give you that. But you cannot best me, Lucanus. I am invincible," he bellowed as he threw the stake aside and with the remaining power he had from the night, began dissolving into a cloud of black mist. Markus knew this was a now or never chance and decided to go for it.

With unbelievable speed he charged at Garren, grabbed the stake and thrusted it rapidly at the Vampire. Garren screeched loudly as his clawed hand tried swinging at Markus' face, but with no avail. He now held the stake at Garren's heart, ready to end it all now.

"You have no idea how long I have waited for this," Markus hissed harshly at his brother. "There will be no escape for you this time, Vampire! PLACEHOLDER" Then, at long last, he thrusted the stake into Garren's chest. His arm went completely through the torso, and struck through the heart and out the back. Garren's eyes widened as he realized he had lost.

"I hope there's a dark place in Coldharbour waiting for you," Markus growled softly as he removed Garren from his grasp and let the now lifeless body fall from the balcony and into the cold frozen lake below. The thin ice cracked as Garren's body crashed through, sinking into the dark depths of the void.

"Thank the Gods," Ivan said aloud, in an emotionally unstable voice. His eyes were watered, and tears streamed from them. "A dark chapter in my life has now ended, and I can start my life anew."

Markus looked back at his son, and then at the lake. "Indeed, let the Divines judge him," he sighed with relief. "We have done our part, Ivan. Do not forget this day, for it was this battle that brought us back together."

A broad smile lay on Ivan's face as he nodded in agreement as he replied, "You know, I found it quite enjoyable to be fighting by your side, Father. I would be honored to stay and do justice wherever it is needed."

"Ivan," Markus said in reply. "Even while Garren Drakul lies dead, there are more of his ilk out there. I have happened to track another one of them down. He goes by the name of Maloran Voss, a Dark Elf who has also served in the Dark Brotherhood. At the moment, he is staying at an unknown location in Cyrodiil, so we have plenty of hunting to do." He finished with a small reassuring grin.

"Well then," Ivan countered with excitement, "let's not waste any time." Ivan, his father, and the rest of the Venatores then left the castle after destroying all of its support beams. It crumbled behind them, destroying all traces of this revenge driven quest. Ivan vowed to rid the world of Vampires then. Now, and until the end of time. Whenever he was called to the heavens as his days end, he would hunt them. He would wipe them from existence, one stake at a time.


End file.
